


Elegy to the Past

by SaxSpieler



Series: Verǫld Vǫrðr [12]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blood, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, action/drama, badass mothers, mentions of abuse, old guys punching each other, posthumous family reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7777804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler/pseuds/SaxSpieler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finley Bannbreker storms the Underworld to put an end Nomad's plans and possibly, the man himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Previously titled "Gravemakers and Axeslingers," but it needed a re-working since I came back to it with fresh eyes.

Mist swirled around his ankles as he paced back and forth on the bridge, a low groan rattling up from below.

Lacing his hands behind his back, he peered over the edge, observing the ongoing construction.

Another grinding turn of the obelisk, another soul torn from the afterlife. It screamed, the sound snuffed out as it spiraled into place alongside its new kin.

He smiled to himself.

_Everything is proceeding as it should._

_Perfect._

His reverie was broken, however, by the strident clunking of crystal-encased boots against stone.

“And what,” he snarled, turning to face the approaching legio flanked by two scutarii, “is so important that you felt the need to _interrupt_ me while I’m _working?_ ”

“Apologies, Savior,” Legio Septimus said quickly, offering a bow. The legio seemed almost shaken - his arms trembled as he folded them in front of himself. “We thought it pertinent to inform you that an incursion force has gathered on the other side of the bridge.”

“What?”

“They’re led by the reaper, the dog god, and a human mortal from the living world.”

Nomad felt his brow furrow, yet he didn’t stop his pacing.

“Who?”

“A woman wielding a halberd. She had glowing eyes, much like your own, Savior.”

Immediately, he halted, his entire being as motionless and soundless as the Underworld around him.

“Go,” he ordered. “Prepare to defend the fortress, but _do not_ engage.”

“Yes, Savior.”

The footsteps of the scutarii receded into the distance - only when they were out of earshot did Nomad allow himself a harsh, sardonic laugh. His voice, once he found it, was painfully tremulous, barely more than a whisper.

_“Bannbreker.”_


	2. These Walls We've Fortified

_“MA! DA!”_

_Ava bolted her feet, current knitting project falling to the rug just as Sullivan burst in through the door._

_“What’s wrong, Sullivan?!?” she demanded, rushing over to the eleven year old and kneeling down in front of him._

_There were no cuts or scrapes, no visible wounds on him at all. Yet, he hugged his arms around himself and cried freely, tears rolling down his cheeks._

_“MA IT’S FIN SHE GOT P...ATH...SHE FELL OUT OF THE BRISTLECONE AND SHE’S NOT MOVING AND-”_

_Ava was already out the door._

_Heart pounding, she hustled toward the children’s favorite climbing tree, a gnarled old pine that was unfit for timber. Near its base, she spotted a crumpled pile of hair and wool that, just as Sullivan said, wasn’t moving at all._

_“FINLEY!”_

_Gathering her skirt in her hands, she broke into a run, finally reaching Finley and dropping to her knees. Practiced hands probed her daughter’s head and neck, then searched for any conspicuous blood stains._

_A minute later, Ava let go of the breath she’d been holding._

_Finley’s pulse was strong. There were no fractures of the skull or spine, and Ava could find no open wounds other than a few shallow scrapes on her hands and arms._

_The wind had been knocked out of her, that was all._

_She had been lucky - not half a foot from her head was a jagged rock. It would’ve split her head open, had she fallen differently._

_Having wrapped Finley in her cloak and gently lifted her into her arms, Ava trudged back to the house, making a beeline for Finley’s room. On the way, she passed Sullivan, tears still streaming down his face, who took a hold of the end of her cloak and followed along with a sniffle._

_Soon enough, Ava made it to Finley’s room, gently placing its usual occupant on her bed and covering her with a nearby blanket._

_“Now, you watch her, Sullivan, while I get some salve for those cuts.”_

_“Aye, Ma,” he sputtered, nodding and wiping his eyes on a sleeve. A quick hug, and Ava was out the door, hustling toward her own room._

_Something caught her eye, however, as she passed Athrhan’s room. All she had time for was a quick glance, but what she saw there was troubling._

_The thirteen year old, thin as a fishing line yet twice as strong, sat on her bed, looking almost pleased as Sullivan’s crying echoed down the hall._

***

The short and sturdy woman, dressed simply in a sheath-dress with a cloak of woven yak hair draped over her shoulders, stepped through the Limbo portal just as Finley made to follow Xenia, Korasi, and Hazelmere back to Death and Icthlarin's makeshift headquarters. Her face, creased with age and laughter, was framed with dark, loosely braided hair, and her calloused hands wrung aimlessly around themselves, nimble as a knitter’s and just as averse to idleness.

“F...Finley?” the woman asked quietly. “Finley, is that you?”

Finley remembered that voice – how it could sing the softest lullaby or boom above the loudest marketplace rackets.

She hadn't heard it in a decade and a half.

“Ma,” Finley wheezed, struggling to find her own voice.

“You're...you're not dead, are you?” Ava Bannbreker asked, reaching a hand toward Finley's face. 

She backed away, her own hands held up defensively. 

There was no blood, no viscera staining her mother’s form. No bones showing, no flesh rotting away. Yet, the memories burned in her mind, making her skin crawl and her shoulders shake.

“Ma, no. I’m sorry...I’m-” her voice gave out, stomach rolling, and she turned away.

The sight of her mother’s remains dissolving in Daggermouth saliva played over and over again.

_“MA!!!”_

_Finley’s voice scraped her throat raw as she screamed and howled for her mother, watching her disappear under the bulk of a rampaging Daggermouth._

_It wasn’t hard, burying the spear in the beast’s back. The sting of its acidic blood against her skin didn’t hinder her either as she heaved the thing up and away._

_Yet, hoisting Ava into her arms, cradling her broken form against her chest, trying to protect what was left of her from the battle still raging around them, had felt like the single most arduous thing._

_Ava’s hand, flesh melting from bone, reached toward her pleadingly._

_“F...fi...n…”_

A hand cupped her cheek, turning her head back around. A whole hand, not torn by fangs and corrosive poison, yet a cold, clammy hand, devoid of life, of true substance.

“Finley? It’s alright,” she said softly, the sound drawing tears from Finley’s eyes. “It’s alright, it’s just me.”

Finley said nothing, but nodded shakily and met her mother’s gaze.

“You're still alive?” Ava asked.

Finley nodded again, making use of her sleeve to dry her eyes a bit.

“Aye...I'm-”

“You've grown so much! Have you been eating well?”

“Wha-”

“What's happened to your eyes?”

“It's not-”

“You haven't been combing your hair!”

“I-”

“And what's all this you're wearing?”

“Ah-”

“How...” Ava trailed off, now cupping Finley's face with both hands. “How old are you?”

“I'm-” she sniffed, counting the years. “Thirty-one? Thirty-two?”

A grin spread across Ava's face, and her hazel eyes – eyes that Finley herself had inherited, at least before they were stained blue-green – crinkled happily as she pulled Finley into one of her signature bear-hugs.

“My little warrior. All grown up...” Ava whispered, her voice faltering.

Finley buried her face in her mother's hair and wept.

The two stood there, unmoving, for a long time.

***

He watched Bannbreker embrace the woman from atop the walls of Limbo's representation of Lumbridge Castle.

She had called the woman _'Ma.'_

Something writhed in his stomach. Raw and cold, it ate at him from the inside, creeping up his spine and clenching around his lungs, threatening to spear them through.

That cocktail of rage, hatred, and jealousy he had harbored for as long as he could care to remember. It was paradoxical, how it at once fueled him and tore him apart.

Huffing, scarf billowing at the sudden motion of air, he steeled himself, walling that cold _something_ off for the time being.

He needed to focus.

Focus on her.

_Bannbreker._

At once a loose end and a fulcrum - a paradox, not unlike himself.

A terrifying, frustrating, and downright _infuriating_ paradox.

And, at the heart of it all, an infuriatingly paradoxical _soul._

A soul so mutable, so open, and so unprotected that it should have been child’s play to tear its energy from her, yet it had been anchored so firmly to its scaffold that even his strongest, most brutal attempts to collect it were resisted.

_So, why had he banked so much energy into obtaining it?_

Each time he asked that question, the answer screamed at him, drowning out his comparatively insignificant greed. 

Yes, he _wanted_ power - that boundless energy her soul gave off would be a siren’s call to even the basest of animavores, and he _wanted_ it. Wanted it for himself, wanted to harness and unleash it to his heart’s desire, putting it to far better use than that dull barbarian wench ever could.

However, he needed something else. Something that he - begrudgingly - admitted was more important than raw strength. Something that, like power, her soul could provide.

_Damn you, Oreb,_ he snarled mentally, pacing. _You were right, just as you said you were._

A voice echoed in his ears. Mirthless, strangely accented, and terribly condescending.

_‘ψυχή θεραπευτή. Find yours, if it even exists.’_

His own voice followed, five decades younger than the one with which he currently spoke.

_‘Pah! How will I know? How will I find it? Useless advice, Oreb.'_

His skull prickled as he remembered the feeling of those metal-taloned fingers seizing his scalp and yanking, coming away holding clumps of dry, dull brown hair.

_‘Look at you - you are dying, if you are not already dead! I give you the means and the knowledge to heal yourself before this addiction claims and destroys you, and you swat it away in favor of your brainless, mass-consumption scheme? PATHETIC!’_

Fingers twitching, curling around his staff, he shut down the memory of Oreb, save for those two words.

_ψυχή θεραπευτή._

_Anima sanitatis._

Quickly, he pieced a plan together in his mind, latching each component into place.

Yes, a good plan. Nearly foolproof. 

_Nearly._

That yawning, persistent abyss reached up to scratch painfully at his throat again, as it always did, screaming at him to be filled. He tamped it down, smoothing it out as one would a starving street dog, and promised it - promised _himself_ \- that it would all be over soon, that he would get what he needed soon.

Healing.

Satiation. 

An end to this twisted, selfish world that owed him so much yet had spurned and struck him down at every opportunity, and the beginning of something better.

A world indebted to him, yet one that would _pay its dues._ That would rightfully acknowledge him as its savior.

There was a slight, slight chance that he could end up paying dearly for his plan, however. Bannbreker was not to be underestimated, not even now.

_Though, I think I know you well enough, you naive barbarian,_ he thought bitterly, staring down at the two Fremennik women now standing apart from each other. _Certainly better than your poor mother does, anyway._

With that, he prepared to teleport.

***

“Well, now,” Ava began, drawing back and clapping a hand down on Finley's shoulder. “You have to tell me what you're doing here. What's happened to you since I left?”

Flinching slightly, Finley shifted in place. ‘Left’ was hardly the word she’d use to describe what had happened to Ava thirteen years prior.

_'Torn the fuck apart by Daggermouths'_ was far closer.

“It's a long story, Ma,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don't think I have enough time to tell you here, aye?”

“Hm,” Ava hummed, her hand moving absently back to Finley's tangled hair. “Well, when you do have the time, I want to hear everything.”

_Everything minus, perhaps, the more painful details,_ Finley thought, glancing away for a moment. _Just the good things. Don’t want her to worry._

“Aye, alright,” she said eventually, looking back to Ava.

“Well, what about your father? Your siblings? How are they?”

_There it was._

The very question Finley had been dreading.

The question she had no real answer to. 

She bit back another round of tears, her face growing hot and her breaths becoming suddenly uneven as she shook slightly. Tamping down the rising panic, she braced for the accusations of deception and abandonment that would no doubt be thrown her way.

“I...Ma, I don't know,” she sputtered. “Haven't...I couldn't...too dangerous...can't... _gods, I’m sorry._ Pa, Sully, Tara, Teague, Connor, Maeve, Breandan, Aideen, everyone on the island, I don’t know I left them I left them and didn’t came back for years and _I should have and-_ ”

Ava simply pulled her into another, gentler hug, shushing her.

“It's okay, Finley,” she cooed, patting Finley’s hair. “It's okay. I know they're still alive – otherwise, I would've seen them arrive in Valhalla.”

_Not all,_ Finley thought, words falling from her mouth before she could stop them.

“No, Ma. Athrhan, she's-”

“I know.” She froze in her mother's arms before drawing back sharply.

“Wha-”

“I know about Athrhan, Finley.” Ava’s voice was flatter, now. Almost cold, if Finley was hearing her correctly. Not only that, but there was understanding in her eyes.

She _knew._ Not just about Athrhan’s death, but about everything else.

_The blood, the hands, the broom handles, the axe blades, everything._

Finley swallowed bile, hugging her arms to her torso.

“ _How?_ ” she choked.

Ava looked around the castle square, gesturing broadly.

“Limbo. Worldly attachments are loosened, even sheared apart here. Sometimes, the fragments - the memories - get seen by others that pass through. It creates a lot of gossip in the afterlives, especially when a soul forces its way back out from Limbo before it’s weighed and escapes from – oh, what's his name? The wolf in the loincloth?”

Finley couldn't help the laugh that forced its way out of her throat.

“Icthlarin?”

“Yes, him. Anyway, souls in Valhalla had started to...whisper of things Athrhan had done. Some I remembered - when she lost her fingers to that fox, for example. Others, I didn’t even know happened.” Ava looked sick and shook her head, grimacing. “Gods, Finley, I should’ve seen the signs, I should’ve done something.”

Finley shut her eyes, arms wrapping tighter around herself. 

“So,” Finley said, wiping a hand across her eyes and taking a deep breath to still her tremors. “That's why you're here, right?”

“Yes, I'm going to find Athrhan, and I'm going to bring her to Icthlarin to be judged properly.” Ava’s lips pursed, and she sighed. “Though it might result in her getting sent to Niflhel, it’s only right-”

“Ma. I'm not sure she'll be too keen to listen-”

“She'll listen to _me,_ ” Ava said firmly. “I’m her mother, and whatever's she’s done doesn't change that.”

Teeth clenching, Finley thought it all over. It was far-fetched, what Ava planned to do, and she had half a mind to try and dissuade her from trying, to tell Ava to go back to Valhalla and rest. 

Yet, when her mother put her mind to something, she hung onto it like a barnacle on a boat hull. 

And, if helping Ava would, in turn, help keep her safe from whatever fight Athrhan would no doubt put up, Finley would do so.

“Right, I know Icthlarin - was actually just heading back to meet up with him. I’ll take you with me.”

Ava's face lit up, and she grasped Finley's face in her hands again.

“After all these years, you're still the best helper I could ever ask for.”

Finley couldn’t help but smile back slightly.

“Hmph, thanks, Ma.”

“But, you have your own business to take care of first, don't you?” 

Finley felt her face fall. Yes, there was a more pressing matter to take care of at the moment. A soul-devouring, power-hungry, and very _bald_ matter.

“Aye.”

“Tell me,” Ava said without hesitation. “Maybe I can help.”

“Ah, that's...part of the long story I was talking about-”

Suddenly, the wind between Finley, Ava, and the portal shifted slightly, crackling with the magic of a teleport spell.

A teleport spell that carried with it a rough, hoarse, and horribly familiar voice.

“Perhaps _I_ can be of assistance, Bannbreker.”

Growling, Finley yanked Ava behind her just as the voice's owner materialized before them.

_Nomad._

Though she sensed that he had lost a bit of the unhinged, ancient energy he had acquired during their encounter in the cave that no longer existed, he still radiated something that set Finley's hackles on edge. His eyes flashed a deep, acidic blue, like some eldritch predator lurking beyond the flames of a bonfire, and, from the way they narrowed dangerously, Finley could tell he was _smiling._

“Finley,” Ava whispered, clutching Finley's arm tightly. “Who is that?”

“Yes, Bannbreker,” he purred affably, bowing slightly. Finley stared right past the ruse, however, catching the slight twitch of his eyebrow ridge and the tightness in his voice that so clearly said _‘I’m going to kill you both where you stand and wear your entrails as a toupee.’_ “Don't be rude - introduce us.”

Shaking, Finley swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

If Nomad was the predator, which one of them was his prey?

_Stay calm, you jumpy bastard. Stay calm. He's just taunting you._

_What do I do? Fight? Run?_

_Stand your ground. Show no fear, and he'll back off. For now. Hopefully. Just keep Ma safe..._

“That's Nomad, Ma,” she said flatly. “He's a right crabbit fud of a mage who's given me a fair sum of grief these past years.”

“Wonderful introduction,” Nomad replied just as flatly. “Nevertheless, it's _lovely_ to meet you, Mother Bannbreker. Your daughter's been quite busy lately, what with being the _World Guardian_ and all.”

Ava's grip on her sleeve loosened slightly at those words.

“Finley... _you?_ The World Guardian?” she asked softly. 

Finley's face grew cold, and she bristled visibly. That wasn’t information she wanted thrown around in casual conversation, not with stories - true or otherwise - about her and her involvement in world-shaking events circulating as they were. And, judging by her mother’s reaction, said stories had indeed reached the underworld.

“ _Yes,_ ” Nomad hissed, satisfaction evident in his mocking tone. “Your daughter is responsible for the death of Guthix, the return of the gods, and the endangerment of the entire world and all its inhabitants.”

Finley ground her teeth, fists clenching – he was telling the truth, _damned bastard._ A distorted truth that conveniently left out the fact that she had done none of those things intentionally, but the truth nonetheless.

“You must be so proud of your pathetic little _failure,_ here.”

She finally opened her mouth to protest, to tell that bald-faced nit to quiet down, but was...

...pushed out of the way.

_Wha???_

“Listen here, you great balding pillock. I don't care who you are or what sort of festering splinter you've got stuck up your ass – you talk that way about my daughter again, and I will shove a chisel between your eyes and twist so hard you won't be able to remember what you ate for breakfast.”

Finley stumbled upright to see her mother, all five foot four of her, squaring off nose to chest with the almost seven foot tall Nomad.

_A songbird squaring off against a dragon._

“I see where your daughter gets her way with words,” he rumbled dangerously, that detestable satisfaction still permeating his voice.

_He planned this._

_Goaded Ma forward…_

Finley drew her halberd.

“Step back,” she warned, wedging herself between the two and aiming at the place she thought Nomad's neck was. “Step back or your head comes off your shoulders.”

“Do you really want to be humiliated in front of your mother, Bannbreker?” he asked, raising his staff and crossing it with her halberd. 

“Risking my life for her is far from humiliating, you skimler,” she spat back, the spot between her eyes prickling uncomfortably at the double blade aimed there. “Even if I lose another internal organ in the process.”

“You’ll lose far more than that if you challenge me again, I can assure you.”

“Aye, just try it.”

Acidic magic crackled across Nomad's staff, and his eyes glowed ever brighter and wilder.

The golden pendant at Finley's throat glinted in the muted light, and smoke curled out from between her teeth.

The two battlemages tensed, the atmosphere boiling between them.

Lightning sparked.

Metal flashed.

Then, the sound of hooves rending the earth.

A mighty bellow, only partly human.

A voice, gravelly and powerful, shouted from beyond the Limbo portal, growing louder with each syllable.

“ _FOR VALHALLAAAAAAA!_ ”

A gauntleted hand appeared, snagging Nomad’s scarf and spinning the mage around into a waiting fist.

Finley barreled out of the way, yanking Ava with her, turning just in time to see Nomad right himself, nose looking slightly more crooked than it did before, and deflect a blow from a vicious-looking steel hasta.

He wasn’t ready for the shield, however.

The mass of arctic pine and iron slammed into his chestplate with an audible _crack,_ the sheer momentum of the strike sending him to the ground with a sharp cry.

Finley’s eyes darted to the newcomer, and her heart skipped once she realized who it was.

His antlered hemet obscured most of his face, but the scraggly grey beard, bear-like posture, tattooed skin, and the almost ghostly wolf-dogs shimmering into existence at his heels made his identity obvious.

“ _Gubbi?_ ”

Geilir 'Death-Hammer' Hradarsson, hasta and - now very much broken - shield in hand, strode over to the fallen Nomad, kicked his staff away, and planted a boot in his chest with a roar that sounded very much like the Daggermouths he could tear limb from limb. Bare-handed.

“ _YE DARE THREATEN MY GRANDDAUGHTER, OUTERLANDER?!?_ ” he bellowed as at least twenty other late Fremennik warriors charged through the portal, weapons drawn.

Arnbjorn Rockcrusher.

Valbrandr Bone-Render.

Sigrak Spinewielder.

Agni Fire-Strider.

Many others she could name.

Many others she couldn’t.

Some, her own shield-siblings, lost to the Daggermouths.

Others, old warriors before her time, remembered in song.

All of them, taking aim at Nomad.

“How sweet,” the mage wheezed, no fear evident in his voice despite the spears, axes, swords, and teeth surrounding him. “A posthumous family reunion.”

His eyes met hers - acid meeting anima.

“Enjoy it while you can, Bannbreker. This isn’t over.”

With that, magic flashed, sending Geilir stumbling slightly, and Nomad bounded back to his feet, snatching his staff from the ground with a flourish.

Then, he was simply gone, carried away by another teleport spell.

It was a while before an uneasy calm finally settled over the gathering of warriors. The sound of weapons being lowered and joints being cracked signified that yes, this battle was over.

How many more there would be, Finley had no idea.

Her mother’s fingers prying at her own brought her back around, and she released Ava’s arm with a quick apology, having realized she had been white-knuckling it for the past few minutes in her panic. As she did so, massaging feeling back into her fingers and sliding her halberd onto her back once again, a hand, its knuckles smeared with grayish-red blood, clapped itself down onto her shoulder. 

“What kind of trouble have ye gotten yerself into now, kid?” At the familiar gesture, Finley turned to face her grandfather in all but blood and sighed sadly.

“More than I care to think about, Gubbi,” she mumbled, drawing him into a grateful bear-hug of her own. He still smelled the same, like wood chips, sweat, wet dog, and campfire ashes. As Geilir returned her embrace, his beard scratching her cheek, she was nearly brought to tears once again.

She hadn't seen the old man in two decades.

In the next moment, Geilir’s dogs - _her_ dogs - wormed their way between the two, nearly bowling Finley to the ground with nuzzles and licks. As she regained her footing, a coal-colored missile of fur leapt over the others and into her arms, sending her crashing onto her back. 

Howling and wiggling, it bounded happily around, and on, Finley, eventually settling for lying squarely on her chest and showering her face with licks. 

She eventually wormed her way out from under the massive wolf-dog, running her fingers through its thick, dark fur with a laugh. Suddenly, she realized that, unlike the rest of the dogs, this one wore no collar.

Her hand went to her belt pouch, where a salt-degraded and well-chewed leather and fur collar was stored.

She looked back at the wolfdog, recognition dawning.

The splash of light gray fur on her chest.

The golden eyes, sparkling with intelligence.

The way the perking of her ears furrowed her brow in that silly, almost human way.

“Rosta?!?”

At the sound of her name, the dog wiggled and barked happily, and Finley threw her arms around her neck, burying her face in the thick mane of fur there.

“Rosta!”

_Ma, Gubbi, and now Rosta._

_They’re all here._

“Hey, Two-Arses!” someone shouted from the ranks of Fremennik. “We heard you needed some help taking down that egg-headed Outerlander.”

She peered up at the crowd and felt a surge of pride and something else - was it joy? - swell in her chest.

Her family had come to help.

“I...I could use some, aye!”

“So, quit hugging your mutt and show us where the fun is!”

Releasing Rosta and standing, she motioned to the portal, determination evident in her grin.

“Right! Follow me, you lot!”

***

_You’ll lose far more than that if you challenge me again, I can assure you._

He massaged his nose, tweaking it back into shape.

His glove came away bloody.

_Far, far more._

The mother. The grandfather. The rest of those barbarians. Even the dog. 

All viable options.

All he had to do was choose.


End file.
